The Final Fabergé Read Online Free Page A

you—Felix Yusupov—invited the crazy monk to his house. You saw him, Rasputin. Remember?”
    Karsalov looked away and said softly, “I knew nothing of what went on. Not until they took him away.”
    â€œRasputin came that night with a package. Correct?”
    â€œA gift for Yusupov, perhaps.”
    â€œNo. It was something Rasputin had picked up earlier from Fabergé, something he planned to take home with him, but—” Pavlenko drank the rest of his vodka. “—he never left the house alive.”
    â€œThat part is true, but it was twenty-five years ago, I have no memory of the rest.” He stood, “Thank you for the vodka, but take what is left, and take the sausage, too. I must ask that you leave now.”
    â€œPlease comrade, I think you will want to hear what I have to say.”
    Karsalov stood with his back to the stove, arms crossed with hands high, the cigarette in one. “Quickly, then.”
    â€œIn the package was an Imperial egg that Rasputin had ordered from Fabergé himself, a gift for the Czarina. You took the package to your room. A house cleaner saw you do it, she had come down from her bed after she heard the shooting.”
    The cigarette again. Karsalov drew heavily on it. “Who tells such wild stories?”
    Pavlenko smiled. “I was told all of this ten days ago. That was when I learned of your wife’s death and that sad news helped me find you. After all, there are others with the name of Karsalov in Petersburg, but only one Nikolai Karsalov.”
    â€œWho said all these lies?”
    â€œSomeone who knows, someone with a long memory.”
    â€œEven if this was true, how is it your business?”
    â€œYour Fabergé egg has no value, comrade Karsalov. Go on the street and offer it for a loaf of bread and they will laugh. Yet in spite of that, I will buy it.”
    Karsalov put the vodka and sausage in the paper sack and pushed it in front of Pavlenko. “Take it and go.”

    â€œI will pay you with food. Food enough to keep you and your son well fed until the ice road opens.”
    â€œDo I look like a complete fool?” Karsalov pushed his chair away noisily. “I’ve asked you to go.”
    Pavlenko’s smile was unconvincing. He tapped the cigarette case twice more on the table, then reached inside his heavy coat as if to put it away. When his hand reappeared it was holding a long-barreled revolver. It was Russian-made, heavy and menacing.
    â€œComrade Karsalov—”
    â€œDon’t call me by that fucking word.”
    â€œ Mister Karsalov,” Pavlenko said with oily politeness. “I have offered to take the Czar’s egg in exchange for bread, meat, and sugar . . . food enough to keep you and your son alive until the Germans are driven away.”
    â€œI heard your damned offer,” Karsalov said, “but I don’t have the Czar’s egg, or anything else that belonged to him.”
    The room was lit by an electric light in a frosted globe suspended over the table, and another, dimmer bulb in a floor stand next to the bed. Pavlenko got to his feet and went over to the bed. He pulled away the blanket and pointed the gun directly behind Vasily’s ear.
    â€œPut the egg on the table or I will save your son from the agony of starvation.”
    â€œYou won’t shoot a helpless child,” Karsalov said.
    â€œTwo thousand children die every day in this city. Another one?” He laughed. “It’s quite simple—squeeze slowly—”
    â€œIt’s here, I’ll get it!” Karasalov yanked open a cupboard door and reached in behind a stack of bowls and brought out the box, now wrapped in newspaper, tied with a heavy cord. He put it on the table.
    â€œUnwrap it,” Pavlenko said.
    Karsalov began to untie the cord, doing it slowly, his eyes on Pavlenko and the revolver. “I was saving it for the children,” he said, visibly